Papes and Lifetimes
by Dakota-Jones
Summary: Denton decides to write a series of articles about the Manhattan newsies, one by one finding out how they got where they are now. But is he going to be able to break through the shells the boys have created? And what shocking secrets will he find? *End!*
1. Denton's Grand Idea

AN: This is a major 'reader interaction' fic- in other words, I will be taking suggestions galore! So feel free to throw _anything out on the table here! And I know this first chapter is really short, but it's more like an intro than anything else._

Summary: Denton is writing a series of articles about the Manhattan newsies, and he is one by one trying to draw their past out of them by interview and spying. But this is going to be a bigger hassle than he expected, because some of the newsies aren't that willing to open up…and some of the newsies will have big surprises hidden in the story of their live…

Chapter 1- Denton's Grand Idea

            "A series of articles about newsies? Do you really think it would sell, Denton?"

            I looked my employer in the eye as his face twisted into disbelief. "I know it would sell, sir. All I need is a week's vacation to get their stories, and I could pull this off. Imagine having a different heartbreaking story in the paper for a whole month- circulation would rise by ten percent, at least!"

            "Who would read an article about an orphan or a runaway?" he asked, and I felt my upper hand slipping. I had to convince him of this!

            "Imagine all the housewives out there who love the sappy stories about the kids with no families. Along with anyone involved with the government- they would have to read it, just for their election runs to look better rounded. Lots of people would read it sir, I know it!"

            "And you're willing to give up a week's worth of pay to do this?"

            "Yes sir, more than willing. I really think it could work."

            "Do you really expect these newsboys to spill their life story out to any reporter who asks?"

            Wow. I hadn't thought of that. The question made me a bit uneasy, but I kept pushing. "Yes, sir. I helped them out all through their strike. They owe me, if you know what I mean."

            He tugged on his beard for a moment, deep in thought. Then he leaned back in his chair and smiled. "You know what, Denton? I like this idea. I'm going to put you on minimal pay for the next week, and we'll see how it goes."

            "Thank you! I won't let you down, sir!" I said, and I made a beeline for the door to go buy a new notebook just for this purpose. 

            Now I had a decision to make; which newsie would I start with?

AN: Well, people, which newsie should he start with? And what should be the order after that? Help me decide here! And if you've got a good background story for any one of the newsies, e-mail it to me; we wouldn't want to spoil it for the readers by putting it on the review board!

This is the first 'reader interaction' fic I've done, so don't let me down!


	2. Threats and Help

AN: Nothing here, people, just read and review and input!

            "Dis ain't a good idea, Denton. You could get yourself into big trouble pullin' a stunt like dis."

            I couldn't believe I was hearing these words come out of the mouth of Jack Kelly, a boy who I thought would be up for just about anything. Now he was refusing to help me? I followed him around to the other side of his bunk, knowing that he was going to be leaving soon to go back to Tibby's.

            "You were willing to give your story, Jack. Why wouldn't they be the same?"

            "Cause some of them have had it a lot worse den me, and it drags up a whole lot of painful memories. Most of them _I _don't even know the stories to, and you know how close I am to them. Do ya really think dey'll tell _you?_"

            "That's why I came here, Jack. I figured I may need your help. Maybe you could come along when I do the interviews, coax them out of their protective state."

            He gave me a furious look, and I took a step back as he practically tore the bandana off of his neck. "I ain't havin' any part of dis. You're gonna be hurtin' a lot of 'em, doin' somethin' like dis." 

            He walked out of the bunkroom, leaving me a bit confused and quite upset. It wasn't like I was doing this to cause them pain- in fact, I was trying to do the opposite. I was trying to bring their plight to the eyes of the world so they could have a chance to actually be seen.

            I was about to walk out when Skittery walked in with Mush, both of them laughing hysterically and having been soaked from head to toe with water. I wasn't even about to ask the reason for that.

            "Hey, Denton! What brings you to dis part of town?" Mush asked, still laughing, but not quite as loudly. He tossed a towel to Skittery, and they both began trying to soak the water out of their hair.

            "Just a little research, that's all. I was hoping you boys could help me out."

            Skittery looked a bit skeptical, but tried his best, for the moment, to be open minded. "Yeah, what with?"

            "I'm doing a series of articles in the Sun about the Manhattan newsboys and how they got to where they are now. I was kinda hoping you guys could sit down with me at dinner or something and tell me about your past."

            It almost seemed as though a freezing cold wind had gone through the bunkroom. I saw both boys visibly tense up, and I could practically feel the animosity growing by the second.

            "Sorry, Denton. No can do. We don't talk about dat stuff around heah." Mush finally said, pulling a clean shirt out of a box underneath his bed. 

            "Well…I mean…I was just thinking…"

            Skittery finally let the facade go and gave me an open, furious look. "I believe dat he said 'no', Denty-boy. And he speaks for all of us. So jest scram, okay?"

            I considered walking out, but then I decided that enough was enough and I put my more formal, reporter personality in charge. "I'm sure it wouldn't hurt you guys to just give an outline of what you've been through for New York to see."

            "New York _is _what I've been through. People look out their windows at it every day and it doesn't change 'em, does it?" Mush asked quietly, but with a measure of tension in his voice that I hadn't heard before.

            "But hearing it straight from someone like_ you-_"

            Before I could say another word, I was suddenly grabbed by the collar and slammed up against the bunk, the rough corner of the wood digging into my back. Despite his skinny frame, Skittery was able to hold me with an iron grip, but with his face still over a foot from mine.

            "_Don't you dare push him."__ He hissed, staring me straight in the eye. I was surprised Mush hadn't pulled him off of me by now- I was scared to death that he was about to punch me or something. He dropped me, glanced at Mush, and then said, "Take your notebook and go back to your wars. I don't wanna have to hurt you, but I will if I hear dat you been botherin' any Manhattan boys. You got dat?"_

            I quickly nodded, not wanting to fuel his temper any further than I already had. I heard Mush clear his throat, and after one more menacing glare in my direction, Skittery followed him out the door.

            _Maybe Jack was right, I thought as I watched them go. _I think I might need more than a week to pull this off.__

I stood in thought for a moment before deciding where I needed to start- If I couldn't get through to Skittery, I wasn't going to get through to any of them. I'd have to start there, since he was probably going to be the hardest to win over to this idea. 

I wasn't going to get through to him just by talking, though. My first order of business would have to be to try to find out his real name. From there I could get the bare outline, and maybe once I had that, he'd be more open to talking about it.

            I trudged down the stairs and went straight to Kloppman's office, where he was busy checking the ledger and income from the night before. He looked up at me and smiled, and I immediately felt more comfortable. _He's like their father, I thought as I sat down across from him._

            "Mr. Kloppman, I need your help with something."

            He gave me a strange look, but didn't seem to mind the interruption. "What do you need?"

            I took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm doing a series of articles in the Sun about the Manhattan newsies, you know, featuring one newsie each day. Telling their story, so to speak. I was hoping you may have a few of their real names on record so I could dig up a few things. I'm looking particularly at Skittery to start with."

            "I'm sorry…you're on your own with this one."

            "What? You mean you're not going to help me either?"

            He laughed quietly, although I didn't see a single thing that was funny about this. "I can't. You couldn't possibly understand them or what they've been through, Denton. I don't even quite understand, and I don't try to anymore. These boys have been hurt, all of them in one way or another. They need their space."

            "I know, but-"

            "No buts. I can't help you. It would be breaking a trust with each one of them that I've had since they walked through that door. I don't break promises. And I would recommend that you not waste your time with this. These boys look out for each other, and you're going to be treading on thin ice."

            "They're going to have to face up to their pasts someday, Kloppman, or else it's going to come back to haunt them. If you just help me get started, just give me one clue that could help me out, then they would never know. Please, you've got to."

            But he didn't. He waved me out of his office, and I stood up to leave.

            "Oh, Denton?"

            "Yes?"

            "I've been reading some old copies of the Sun, and I found an awfully disturbing article about a murder on 5th Avenue about ten years ago. You didn't happen to write that article, did you?"

            I smiled broadly. I knew that eventually someone would see this my way and help me out a bit. "No, but I'll check into it. I might be able to find out who did."

            "Good. You do that. Have a nice day, Denton."

            "You too. And thank you."

            _This may go a little smoother than I thought…_

AN: Haha, Denton's getting' bashed a little in this chapter. He probably will in future chapters too, but it's his own fault. Alright, any suggestions? Any at all?

Denty-boy. Haha…that's kinda funny…

And what could Skittery possibly have to do with a ten-year-old murder case? We'll find out, won't we?


	3. A Bridge Never Crossed

AN: Sorry I haven't updated in a few days- I've been outta town on a last minute trip. I'll make up for it, I promise! Just read, review, and PLEASE input! I want this fic to go with the reader's ideas!

            I couldn't believe what I was reading. I absolutely couldn't. It wasn't possible.

            But there it was in black and white, right in front of me. I read the headline and first paragraph over again, hoping to find some clue that would tell me it hadn't been true.

**Boy Disappears After Double Homocide**

_7 year old Michael O'Konnor is still missing after the abrupt deaths of his parents. Sources at the station say that the youth's mother, Evelyn O'Konnor, was brutally stabbed to death by his father, Thomas O'Konnor. The police say that Michael then used the knife against Thomas in self defense, resulting in Thomas's death at the local hospital three hours later. The boy reportedly was seen running from the scene immediately following the murders, yesterday around 4p.m.. The boy has light brown hair and hazel eyes, height and weight are unknown. If anyone has information on the boy's whereabouts, please contact local authorities._

            Skittery…no wonder he was known for being moody. He'd been running all this time, not only from the police, but from his own past. His mother murdered, and then his father coming after him with the same intent…that was too much for anyone of his age to bear.

            I tore the article out of the paper and stuffed it back in the drawer, no longer caring that the paper didn't belong to me in the first place. The boys would be out selling right now, and all the Manhattan boys knew where each of the others sold. If I found one, I could get to Skittery from there. I had to talk to him about this.

            I made it to Manhattan in what had to be record time, and the first newsie I saw was Dutchy. I walked up to him and bought a paper out of common courtesy as I spoke.

            "Hey Dutchy, do you know where Skittery was selling today?"

            He gave me a strange look, obviously confused as to why I wanted to know where Skittery was selling, but he obliged after a moment of thought. "I think he said he was gonna sell in Central Park today."

            "Which side?"

            "Um…probably north. That's where da most people are…by da business district."

            I fished a quarter out of my pocket, seeing his face light up as I handed it to him. "For the information. Thank you!"

            "No problem, Denton. Anytime."

            _It's too hot to be doing this, I thought as I walked the shorter distance to Central Park. I knew I would have to make this quick- storm clouds were gathering in the sky, and though the temperature drop would be welcome by me, the rain certainly wouldn't. _

            I could hear him before I saw him, yelling out some headline about a stock market dip and completely exaggerating it, calling it the biggest drop in years. I knew it wasn't, and so did everyone else. That's how I knew the headlines were awful today.

            It ended up that he didn't see me approach- I came up behind him as he sold a few papers to some ladies passing by on their afternoon strolls. I just watched him for a moment, seeing this courageous boy in a whole new light after reading the article.

            "Good morning, Skittery."

            He visibly stiffened, scowling and not even attempting to be good natured as he tucked his papers under his arm and began to walk away. I grabbed him by his sleeve, and he spun around, ripping my hand free of the fabric.

            "What do ya want? I ain't got time ta play games right now. I got papes ta sell."

            "I just want to talk."

            "No way. I gotta go."

            He turned once more to walk away, but I wasn't about to let him go that easy. "I know about what happened to you. I know about the murders."

            He stopped, but he didn't turn around. It was as if he couldn't face me now that I knew.

            "Dat's nice. Congratulations on your research abilities. I gots ta go."

            "You're just going to walk away from this?"

            "I've walked away from everythin'. Dis ain't no different."

            I couldn't believe it. He was actually walking away from me, after all that! By the time I gathered my wits, he had disappeared in the crowd. But then I saw something that truly scared me.

            The ten or so papers he had yet to sell were lying on the ground not five feet away from me. He had just dropped them there, as if…as if he had decided they weren't worth selling. I felt the realization go through me like a jolt. Jack had said that I was going to hurt a lot of people, dredging up the memories like that. If he was right…

            "Skittery! Skittery, come back!" I screamed, not caring about the dirty looks I was getting from the businessmen around me.

            I searched all day, but to no avail. I went to Tibby's at both lunch and dinner, but he didn't show up either time. And after dinner, back at the lodging house, somebody finally noticed something was up.

            "Denton, what are you doin' here? First lunch, and then dinner, and now comin' back to da lodging house wit us? Somethin' ain't right here." Blink said, eyeing me suspiciously as I walked through the door.

            "I'm just…waiting for Skittery." I explained, seeing no point in lying to them. They'd eventually find out anyway.

            "Why? What's goin' on with him?"

            "Nothin', I just…well…it's hard to explain."

            Jack caught on to that quicker than anyone, and Mush followed a close second in putting two and two together.

            "What did you say to him?" Jack asked, walking up to me.

            "I didn't say anything. He didn't give me the chance."

            "Well, you obviously said somethin', cause it's past curfew and he ain't here."

            "I told you, I didn't-"

            He slammed me back against the wall, and I was suddenly praying that Kloppman would intervene. But he didn't…I was sure he could hear all this from his room, but the doorway remained empty.

            "What did you say to him?!"

            "Put me down, let me explain!"

            He dropped me to the floor, but kept me from getting around him. The room was as quiet as a tomb, with every newsboy afraid to speak.

            "I found some old articles from the Sun. I was going to ask him about them, that's all."

            Jack's face went from anger to a mix of fury and concern. He spun around and yelled for Kloppman, and Kloppman walked out of his room, totally calm.

            "I've gotta leave. I just know Skittery's gonna try and pull somethin', ya know? Ya gotta let me leave." He said, quietly enough that the other boys couldn't hear but I could.

            "I don't think that's your responsibility, Jack. Not this time." Kloppman said, his gaze falling on me.

            "What do you mean, he's going to 'pull something'?"             I asked. Jack dragged me aside so that not even Kloppman could hear us talking.

            "When Skittery came here, he was so bent on killing himself that we had to tie him to his bunk and have two newsies there to watch him his first few days. It took us a long time ta convince him not ta take a flyin' leap off da Brooklyn bridge. And now dat you've gone and brought it all back…I can't guarantee he'll use common sense."

            I felt the guilt building up in me by the second. It _was_ my fault…Jack had warned me, and I hadn't listened. "The…Brooklyn bridge?"

            "Yeah."

            "I'm on it."

            "I wouldn't be surprised if you's too late already."

            "I've got to try."

            I pushed past him and ran out the door. By now the rain had escalated into a full scale downpour, and lightening made the night into day for seconds at a time. I managed to convince a passing carriage driver to take a detour past the Brooklyn bridge, as soon as I told him it was a matter of life and death. And he certainly believed me when we got there- a fourth of the way across the bridge, we could see the silhouette of a young man, on the outside of the rail and leaning as far forward over the chasm as his arms, hands locked on the railing, would allow. I saw the driver's eyes widen as he pulled to a stop and I jumped out.

            "Skittery!" I yelled, but he showed no signs of having heard me. He only stared downward, and my biggest fear at that moment was that he would lose his grip on the slick railing. I didn't even want to think about him purposely letting go. I took a few steps closer, but stopped dead when he began to speak. I could barely hear his words over the thunder and the pounding rain.

            "She wasn't dead, ya know."

            "What?"           

            He was silent another moment, and I considered just grabbing him right now and getting him back over the railing. But his voice kept me from doing anything. It was entrancing, the way he was speaking. "She was layin' there, on da floor…da blood was all over…I didn't think there was dat much blood in one person. She…she couldn't barely breathe. He had stabbed her twice in da throat, as I'm sure you _read in da articles_."

            All this sounded like it was coming from a machine. It didn't sound like Skittery saying it. It sounded almost ghostly, breathy words that came from the heart and not the throat. A spoken flashback.

            "And she saw me. I could see dat she wasn't scared anymore, only hurtin'. God…was she hurtin'. But she couldn't cry. And she looked up at me…her eyes looked dead, like she wasn't even there anymore. And she told me…she told me ta finish her off."

            I couldn't speak. Even the driver was now standing outside the carriage, listening to the desperate boy spill his memories to us as if he never had. Maybe he hadn't.

            "I didn't want to. I didn't want them ta think I had killed her. Dat's funny, ya know? She's lyin' there…_dying_…and all I can think about is _my God damned innocence._ But…she asked again, and I wanted ta be loyal. I wanted ta end her sufferin'. I didn't want ta watch her struggle anymore. So…I took da knife out of her arm…and I stabbed her. In da heart. Da only place _he_ had avoided. It wasn't long after dat when she died."

            He took a long, shaky breathe, his gaze not moving from the river below. "And when _he came back…I knew he was gonna come after me too. So I killed him. I killed 'em both. In cold blood. __I didn't cry. I didn't…feel…anything." A sob finally broke the stagnant mentality he had created, and he struggled to continue. "I'm no bettah then __him, and I thought _he_ deserved ta die! So why not me? Why not me? Why couldn't…why couldn't da bastard…take me first…"_

            I saw his grip giving way, and I lunged forward and grabbed his shirt, pulling him back. I was quickly joined by the driver in pulling his limp form back over the railing and onto solid ground. I didn't even take time to wonder if the close call had been accidental…or on purpose.

            The driver backed off as I cradled Skittery, whose sobs were shaking his whole body as he curled up against me. I was at a loss as for what to do, but then I had an idea. I pulled the article out of my pocket, and reaching around Skittery to use both hands, I ripped it into as many pieces as it could be ripped into. I couldn't write an article about this. No one in their right mind could write this article.

            Eventually exhaustion, lack of food, and sheer anguish took its toll on him, and he fell asleep right there in the rain. The driver gently offered me a ride to my apartment, and I thanked the Lord that this man was this kind as I accepted the offer.

            I laid Skittery down on the sofa in my apartment, putting extra wood on the fire and covering him up with all the blankets I could scrape up. Then I proceeded to burn all the notes I had taken about him.

            I wasn't surprised that he was gone when I woke up in the morning- I had been so sure that he would take off that I had left a note laying on his hat (which I had put on the table) which explained that I wasn't going to write anything about his story, let alone publishing it. I also explained in the note how sorry I was, hoping it would suffice for him as an acceptable apology. I had the feeling that he would be alright now, having told his story and hopefully having gotten it off his chest. Confessions are worth their weight in gold when it comes to guilt; I found that out the hard way.  

            And just to prove how much his confession meant, I put an extra sentence at the end of the letter.

            _It wasn't your fault._

            That same day I went to my boss and begged him to let me drop these stories. I told him that I had caused a lot of problems, but I didn't tell him exactly what happened. He would say that I was losing the 'reporter objectiveness' in me by taking these boys to heart.

            And of course, he wouldn't let me drop the assignment. He told me to find a way around the problems and continue on.

            And a whole new dilemma was born. Could I do the same thing to another newsie that I had done to Skittery?

AN: Wow, that was a long, hard chapter to write. Really long. Really hard. Wow. Well…all I can say right now…is read, review, and input! _    _


	4. Realizations and Endings

AN: Okay, haven't updated in a while, sorry about that. I'm back in the 'swing of things' now. Time for the ending chapter- you'll be feeling sorry for Mush and Specs this time, but I never leave them feeling down! I promise!

            I decided that the only way I could possibly do this and help bridge the guilt was to go straight to the newsies and tell them what I'd gotten myself into. Surely they would help me out.

            That night I went to the lodging house just after curfew, and found a game of blackjack in full swing. I asked Jack to have all the newsies come downstairs so I could talk to them, and after a moment's hesitation, he did so. 

            Every newsie except for Skittery, that is. He had gotten himself drunk that evening at a local bar and ended up getting carried back to the lodging house by the bar owner himself, who took pity on the boy. He was in a state of unconsciousness now, and I left two dollars with Kloppman to give to him when he woke up- for the selling he'd missed, and for rent for as many days as needed. I told Kloppman that if he didn't show any signs of acting better to bring him back to my apartment and I'd watch over him myself.

            Soon I had all the boys' attention on me, and I knew how short that attention span could be. I got started, trying to remember not to use any 'fancy' words.

            "I've…I've gotten myself in some deep problems, guys. Problems that have come to involve you. And I need your help."

            Not a good reaction. I could see confusion on some faces, boredom on others, and anger or fear on those remaining. I took a deep breath, hoping to steady my nerves. "I know how many of you have pretty sensitive pasts behind you. But I promised my boss that I would get some of those stories down on paper for the Sun. I tried to reason with him today, but he won't budge. I was hoping…that maybe a few of you would be willing to talk."

            Complete silence. Uh-oh. This was not a good sign. I saw the boys look from one to the other, each hoping that someone else would volunteer.

            "I'll talk wit ya, Denton." A voice suddenly said from behind me, and I was shocked to turn around and see Mush standing at the bottom of the steps, a weak smile on his face. "We do owe ya, I guess. For da strike and all."

            "Thank you, Mush."

            Specs suddenly groaned and shook his head. "Ah, what da heck. I'll do it." After a moment he laughed and turned to Dutchy, who looked awfully surprised at his friend's outburst. "I must be insane, ain't I?"

            "Yep. You were already insane anyways."

            I could feel hope rising in me. That was at least two stories to hopefully quell my bosses 'orphan fever'.

            "Thank you, guys. Um…Mush, why don't we do lunch at Tibby's tomorrow? And Specs…dinner?"

            Both boys nodded, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I turned around and thanked Kloppman for letting me keep the boys up. He just smiled and began herding the boys upstairs, prodding the stubborn ones with a poke to the back. I left the lodging house, breathing a huge sigh of relief.

            I was half afraid that Mush wouldn't show up; I'm sure he wasn't looking forward to this. But he walked in right on time, laughing and joking with a few other newsies. He was beaming as he walked over to the table and sat down across from me.

            "Must be good headlines." I commented as he ordered a drink. He nodded, but I could see his smile was already fading. I took out my notebook and pencil, looking him in the eye. "Whenever you're ready."

            "God, I don't know where ta start…"

            "Well, why don't you tell me about your family?"

            He nodded. "My dad was an accountant for this big firm in Jersey. I don't remember much else about him…I was only 5 or so. My mom stayed at home, and my sister Rebekka was goin' ta school. They were plannin' on sendin' me ta school pretty soon, too."

            "Sounds like you were pretty well off."

            "Yeah, we were makin' a good livin'. Had a house that was double the size of da lodgin' house. But that wasn't good enough for my dad. He wanted ta send us ta one a dose…um…hoity toity boarding schools in Connecticut. But we jest didn't have da money."

            "Well, private schools are expensive. Very expensive."

            "Yeah. Anyways, like I said, my dad was an accountant for dis big firm, and he started hidin' some of da profits. Sendin' them into our bank accounts instead of da companies. Mom told him not ta do it, but it was like an addiction or somethin'. Ya know, like race at da tracks. He jest couldn't give it up. He kept takin' more and more, and soon Rebekka was goin' to dat private school, and I was gonna start there in da fall."

            "But you never went, did you?"

            This was where he choked up. I had been waiting for it from the time he began speaking, and now he was growing even more tense. He pulled his hat off his head and began wringing it in his hands.

            "No. Da company…they found out. When they fired him, we thought that would be the end of it."

            "But it wasn't. They couldn't just let him go, could they?" I prompted when he hesitated.

            He was close to tears now. I could tell just by the way that his eyes didn't seem focused. He was concentrating on something long since past. "It was da first snow of da winter. Rebekka was home on a vacation, and I was awake, sittin' by my window, watchin' da snow come down cause I was lookin' forward to sledding with Rebekka da next day. And I saw people walkin' up to our door, carryin' lanterns and wearin' all black. It was…out of a book or somethin'."

            He stopped a moment, and this time I didn't speak. I let him gather his wits as I jotted down some more notes. I didn't need to take many- it was hard to forget a story like this.

            "At first I thought that dad would take care of 'em, ya know? Send 'em away. But then I heard the screams. I knew it was my mom, I recognized da voice. I ran down the hall to dad's office, 'cause he had been writin' some letters, but they had already gotten to him. He'd been stabbed in da head. I froze up, and I didn't get out before one of the guys was blockin' the doorway. I saw a knife in his hand, and I panicked. I jumped out da window."

            "The window was open?"

            "No."

            "Oh….um…well…what level were you on?"

            "The second. I landed on my feet, but I fell and busted up my arm pretty bad. But I could see that they had lit da house on fire, on da other side from where I was. So I ran."

            "Where did you go?"

            He was crying outright now. I couldn't blame him. "I hid in the neighbor's hedges for a while, but after da fire went through da whole house, I knew nobody was gonna walk out. 'Specially not Rebekka or my mom. So I left. I hitchhiked up here ta New York, and dat's when I met Blink. We was about da same age, and he introduced me inta bein' a newsie. And dat's where I been since."

            We sat there in silence for a few minutes, just finishing our meals that had been unnoticed throughout the story. He obviously had lost his appetite- he only ate half his sandwich before pulling his hat back onto his head.

            "I gotta sell da afternoon edition. Hope I helped. No names, remember?"

            "No names. Thank you."

            "Anytime, Denton. Glad I could help." 

            Dinner came all too fast for me- I was still reeling from Mush's story when Specs joined me at the corner booth for dinner. He smiled, but I could tell it was a completely fake smile. 

            "Hey. You ready for this?" I asked him, and he laughed.

            "As ready as I'll evah be."

            We ordered, and then I pulled out my notebook and got my pencil out of my pocket. Then I nodded to him, signaling that I was ready whenever he was.

            "Where do I start?" he asked, and I felt like laughing. That was practically the same thing that Mush had said to me.

            "Just…tell me about your family."

            "I was an only child. My mom worked in a factory. She was the angel of da family, always smilin' and laughin'. My dad…he didn't work. He laid at home, drinkin' beer and occasionally goin' out to bars with his friends. My mom and I basically paid the rent, cause I was a newsie by then, but my dad wouldn't let me live in da lodgin' house. Mostly cause he needed somethin' ta take his anger out on."

            "He beat you?"

            "Beat? No. He practically killed me just about every night. It was worse than beating. I'm surprised I didn't die one of those nights."

            "But you do live at the lodging house now. What happened?"

            Once again, the bridge was crossed from just tension to anger and sorrow. I could see it in their eyes when they were talking about something that hurt them badly. "He went too far." Specs whispered, so quietly that I had to lean forward to hear him. Then he broke down into sobs. "I can't say it…I jest can't say it…"

            I stood up and slid in beside him in the booth, putting an arm around his shoulders and letting him lean on me. "You can say it, Specs. What happened?"

            "He…he tried ta rape me. And when mom tried ta stop him, he raped her…and beat her. She was jest about dead when he finished wit' her."

            I was so stunned I couldn't speak. He wouldn't lie about something like this, and his sobs confirmed my fears that it was true, but I couldn't imagine that kind of abuse. It seemed so unbelievable. And there was nothing I could do for him but hold him as he cried out all the tears he'd probably been holding inside all this time.

            "Specs…I'm so sorry…"

            He had to get the whole story off his chest, obviously, because he continued. "Mom made me leave that night. After he stormed out to go back to da bar, she told me ta leave and never come home. She told me.... that she'd take the next train to California. That if we split up there'd be less a chance of him findin' us. I didn't believe her. I knew she was gonna die. But I did what she told me to. I found a newsie on da streets- ended up bein' Skittery- and he carried me back to da lodgin' house. Even paid for my rent and brought me food da first few nights when I was too beat up ta sell or even walk."

            "Did you ever find out what happened to your mother?"

            "No. But she told me she'd send me a postcard from Cali, dat night when she was dyin'. And I nevah got one."

            The next day I walked into my bosses' office, my head held high. He jumped when I slammed the door, and his surprise quickly turned to anger.

            "What's the matter with you, Denton? Have you lost your mind?"

            "It would be less of a price to pay then what those boys have! You want their stories? Go get them yourself!"

            "Denton! I could fire you right here, right now-"

            "Go ahead! Fire me! I could care less right now. We can't publish those stories!"

            He had stood up by then, his face red with rage. I had one advantage here- I was his best reporter, and firing me would be a big blow to the paper. "Fine! Just drop it! Go back to doing stock…but I warn you, this is your last stunt before you're out of here!"

            I left his office, and for once in my life, I actually felt truly proud. I believe that those newsies would've been very proud of me, and that was the greatest prize to be obtained- not the ratings of a newspaper, but lifetimes and memories that belong to one person and nobody else.

**The End**

AN: Well, what do you people think? See, Denton did redeem himself, and the newsies won't have to publish their stories! Yay! I always keep my promises…anyways, now that you've read it, review it!  


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